Prague’s cityscape mostly wears the vestiges of its former Soviet occupation lightly, so I can’t help but think that Franz Kafka, whose writing foreshadowed dystopian Communist reality so vividly, would appreciate the irony that we are staying in what I can only describe as a retro chic Soviet era designer hotel, complete with red and beige shag pile carpeting, and a view across the river Vltava to the left bank and royal castle compelling enough for the most demanding visiting party apparatchik. The two elderly, well-worn gentlemen who man the front desk, complete the illusion.
Does the tell-tale click when I lift the receiver on that orange plastic 1980s rotary dial phone in our room mean it’s bugged? One can but wonder.
It’s early summer so we’re prepared for crowds, but the inebriated crush of spring breakers, cheek by noisy jowl with stag and hen party celebrants on the Charles Bridge is so oppressive that we are literally propelled across it past the startled saints on their plinths to the Malà Strana (Little Quarter) where the scrum miraculously reduces to a mere ruck. With the struggle to reach the actual (royal) castle looking as impossible as Kafka’s metaphoric one from his last novel, we allow ourselves to be manoeuvred as far as the lower reaches of the Palace gardens with its exhibition of 1938 anti-propaganda posters and the parliament complex, before breaking free of the current.
Guided by some mysterious internal compass, (typically we are exploring without a physical or digital map and it’s been over twenty years since I was last here), we find our way back across the river to the Old Town Square (Staroměstské náměstí) which is at least large enough to hollow out the hordes, though the Thai Massage Parlour complete with rolling neon sign on the ground floor of an otherwise unblemished Renaissance building somehow sums up how much this beautiful city has lost its soul in its attempts to cash in on its ‘must visit’ status.
Wondering aloud if I have committed the cardinal travel sin of revisiting a beloved place once too often (this is Sabrina’s first time here so fortunately she has no point of reference), we stumble on towards Wenceslaus Square where a massive Primark and a host of other familiar fast fashion stalwarts compete for attention with an enthusiastic folk dancing troupe making moves against the backdrop of the National Museum.
Fortunately this moment proves to be a nadir of sorts, as we find our way by accident into the quiet oasis of the small Františtânská zahrada (Franciscan Garden) where we sit in the sun sipping watermelon juice as a grizzled guide tells the enthralling tale of how it was to live through the Prague Spring and Velvet Revolution, to an even older tour group. Silently applauding his storytelling we slip quietly back to consult with the venerable gentlemen at the front desk about dinner. Where on earth can we eat authentic Czech food, with local people at ‘normal’ prices? Turns out there’s a restaurant inside a brewery ‘U Medvidku’ close by, where we enjoy a refreshing raspberry pilsner with pork schnitzel and potato salad under the stern eye of the server and are surrounded by students, with nary a foreign accent in earshot. Afterwards, even the sunset seems to promise the world for the early start I have planned for tomorrow, to hopefully see the city as it should be, in a brief moment of quiet.
Sabrina sleeps on as the shag pile carpeting absorbs the noise of me getting ready and I step out into an almost deserted streetscape just before 5:30am. Nightclub bouncers are finally shutting up shop, while a few stragglers weave their way woozily to wherever home is and the detritus of last night’s excesses is everywhere. Trams old and new are already clanking past the impressive Neo-Renaissance bulk of the National Theatre, as I round the corner onto an almost deserted Charles bridge, which suddenly looks surprisingly large and recognisably the magnificent statue-lined span that I remember. Looking for a more interesting vantage point I head north up the riverside and finally find it in the lee of Mánes bridge.
Feeling like we’ve turned a page I breezily suggest to Sabrina at breakfast that we make the long trek to Holešovice, which bills itself as ‘the coolest neighbourhood in Central Europe’. Hyperbole aside, this former industrial area certainly has emerging hipster potential and for now at least is blissfully empty of tourists, though even here in the charming Bethesda restaurant where we stop for a cold beer, a large table of American gap year students are trying to hit on the shy barman. Crowds are not far away however and on our way back to the river we pass through multitudes of beer drinkers in Letenské sady park while down on the river bank groups of guys are massing as they wait for party boat cruises. It’s all a bit much in the heat of the afternoon.
By way of atonement I promise to take Sabrina to a trio of Prague’s finest Imperial-era cafés and to our joy we find that they are every bit as atmospheric as their Vienna counterparts. If there’s a finer spot in Central Europe than a picture window table at the Kavárna Slavia we’ve yet to find it, as tea and Sachertorte (even better in Sabrina’s opinion than the one served at the Sacher hotel in Vienna itself), gives way to cocktails and the sun sets over the midstream island of Střelecký and the left bank. Of all the traditional Mittel-European cafés, this and Café Leopold Hawelka in Vienna are now our favourites. Hawelka looks like it has barely changed since it first opened its doors in 1939, and when you visit you’ll more than likely be greeted at the door as we were, by a gracious elderly gentleman, who is none other than the son of Leopold and Josefine Hawelka, the establishment’s founders. While Hawelka’s interior is dark, cosy and more than a tad raffish, Slavia’s art deco dining room is high-ceilinged, flooded with light and full of starched, white aproned waiters and waitresses doing brisk but not brusque business, as the resident pianist works his way through a repertoire of polkas and waltzes. Allegedly, prior to its temporary closure in 1991 this was a favourite spot of Vaclav Havel, Czechoslovakia’s last president and you can still sit at the table where he and other members of the great and good, plotted the finer details of the Velvet Revolution.
Sachertorte
5 oz 70% chocolate, chopped
5 oz unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence
5 eggs, separated
3 oz lightly packed almond flour
1/2 cup gluten-free or regular plain flour
Filling and frosting:
6 tbs apricot jam
Chocolate ganache
6 oz bittersweet/dark chocolate, roughly chopped
1/4 cup double cream
1/2 tbsp butter
1 tsp vanilla essence
Preheat oven to 175 C. Oil and line the bottom of a 9 inch round cake pan. Melt the chocolate over simmering water, set aside to cool slightly. Using a stand mixer, cream the butter, then slowly add the sugar until fluffy. Add the melted chocolate and vanilla until combined. Add the egg yolks, almond flour and the flour beat until combined. In a separate bowl beat the egg whites until stiff peaks. Fold one third of the egg white into the chocolate mixture to loosen it, then fold in the rest until no whites are showing. Pour the batter into the prepared cake pan and smooth the top. Bake for 45-60 mins or until cake springs back when lightly touched. Allow the cake to cool for 10 mins in pan before transferring to a wire rack to cool completely. While the cake is cooling make the filling and frosting. Heat the apricot jam until bubbling, remove from heat and strain, leave to cool.
For the Chocolate frosting; heat the double cream until it starts to boil. Pour over the chocolate and the butter, let it sit for a few minutes, then stir until smooth, then stir in the vanilla.
Slice the cake into three layers, lay the bottom layer on the cake rack and spread some of the apricot jam over it. Then lay the second layer over it, spread with jam. Top with the last layer. ( if the top of the cake is slightly domed trim to flatten). Pour the chocolate frosting over the top and sides of cake and smooth. Put in the fridge to set the frosting, preferably overnight.
Also delightful and right across the Legion bridge from Kavárna Slavia is the Art Nouveau Café Savoy. More opulent and Viennese in style than its right bank neighbour, it does double duty as a fine dining establishment in the evening and serves one of the best apple strudels you’ll find anywhere.
Last and definitely most if folderol is your thing, is the extraordinary confection that is Kavárna Obecní Dům, which is like the eccentric love child of Donald Trump and the Czech Art Nouveau graphic artist Alphonse Mucha, with a menu to match. We couldn’t get out of there quickly enough, but if gilded cages are your thing it takes the concept of dinner and a show to new heights, as the café shares the building with the Prague Philharmonic. A little Caviar and Waffles or Foie Gras Mousse with your Dvořák, perhaps.
It’s our last afternoon in the city and still searching for traces of Kafka beyond fridge magnets and other tat we explore the surprisingly deserted Jozefów (Jewish Quarter) where he was brought up and spent most of his life as a writer. Jarolav Róna’s enigmatic memorial statue of Kafka stands guard over the remarkable Spanish Synagogue (the youngest of the six here) and for an hour or so we feel like we have escaped the fever dream of the Old Town which is but ten minutes walk from here, before partially re-joining it as we visit the Pinkas Synagogue and poignantly atmospheric old Jewish cemetery, though here the throng is peaceful and chatting away animatedly in Yiddish and Hebrew.
What their forefathers might have thought of the A-Z of luxury brands stores on nearby Pařížská Street is anyone’s guess, but in this city of constant reinvention to harvest the tourist dollar, it’s just one conundrum of many.
Thanks for the vicarious trip to Prague, a place I have thought of visiting, mostly because of its deep connection to Franz Kafka. I’m ambivalent about those crowds, but the Sachertorte might make up for it. I love your elegant writing and recipes! I’m long overdue for attempting to make a Sachertorte!
Awesome read. I haven't been to Prague yet, but I've heard nothing but great things about it. Thanks for sharing your journey!